excitement. I shall say in the next number of the Smart Set that James Harlan was the damnedest ass that America ever produced. If you don't know him, look him up. In the second edition of my book on the American language I shall add a new verb—to Menckenize—and perhaps a new noun, Menckenism. The definition of these words will clear up matters for you, and summarize my contribution to the national belles-lettres. It is beginning to take—the spirit is beginning to spread."
While Mr. Mencken and the jeune fille are engaged in this chat on the nature of beauty, I fancy the horn of a "high-powered" automobile is heard from the street before the Menckenian school. And in bursts Mr. Francis Hackett, looking like a man who has just performed a long and difficult operation under the body of his car, though, as a matter of fact, he has only just completed a splashing, shirtsleeve review for The New Republic. "Let's wash up," cries Mr. Hackett, stripping off his blouse of blue jeans, "and go out to luncheon."
"Where shall we fressen?" says Mr. Mencken.
"At the Loyal Independent Order of United Hiberno-German-Anti-English-Americans," says Mr. Hackett. "All the New Critics will be there. Colum, Lewisohn, Wright, and the rest. I tried to get Philip Littell to come along. He's too gol darn refined. But I've got a chap in the car, from the West, that will please you. Used to run a column in the World's Greatest. Calls Thomas
